Wordless.

I have started and thrown out more blog posts and journal entries this year than I can even begin to remember. I’m compelled, periodically, to write about this intense feeling I’m living with, this intense faith, that has propelled me into writing two novels at the same time while working a full-time job. I feel like the energy that’s filling my brain with whispered inspiration should be extolled with glorious words, captured on the (digital) page, preserved for all to see.

But it just ain’t working like that. Every time I try to capture the details, they slip through my fingers as my brain sharpens its focus. The focus is somehow misdirected, away from the truth. I know I’ve had various drug related experiences that would call this ego-interference, or something along those lines. I mean, after all, why write a blog post about something if your ego wasn’t getting involved?

So here’s the truth, as near as I can describe it: I’m optimistic. But more than optimistic, I have this sense–this borderline knowing–that good things are just around the corner. I have words pouring through me again, a path lighting up before me, and the promise of some kind of freedom in the near-ish future. And the recognition of the freedom I do have, now.

Life is not perfect, and yet it is. No, I’m not making my living from my writing–yet. But I am writing, and loving it. No, I don’t live near the ocean in an adorable New England condo-yet. But I do live in a city that is going through a terrific renaissance, in a beautiful little house that keeps me warm and dry, with two excellent roommates and a menagerie of furry, loving pets. No, I’m not rich–but I’m solvent. No, I don’t have everything I want–but I have a life full of freedom, love, and the promise of adventure.

And for me, that’s what life is about: being free, loving others, and having one adventure after another. Even if that adventure is as small as trying a new way of cooking vegetables (have you tried sous vide yet? It is perfection.), or as big as putting 80,000 original words and countless hours of toil, love, and heartache out for public criticism and consumption. (That’s publishing a novel, in case you were wondering.)

It took me a long time to realize that what I wanted out of life was as simple as that, but I’m glad I did. I might even venture to say that I think, in the end, it’s that simple for most of us. We want to be free. We want to love and to be loved. And we want to feel alive.

When was the last time you asked yourself: what do I really want from life? Go ahead, ask. And listen. Sometimes the answer will surprise you.

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